


What lays beneath

by TipsyEpsy



Category: League of Legends
Genre: A few others are mentioned but don't play that big of a role, Body Horror, Weird Biology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 23:36:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14436603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TipsyEpsy/pseuds/TipsyEpsy
Summary: “Kassadin did not blame his fellow combatants when they shifted nervously when ever he roamed away from his lane. His presence made them nauseous with unease and the unearthly energies emanating from his core, probably did not do any wonders to their fragile unmarred minds.”





	What lays beneath

No one mentions it, but Kassadin is well aware of the fact that people in general keep their distance from them. Not just from the wretched creatures either, no, everyone else seems to avoid anyone who was tied to the Void, as some sort of private sacred rule. And, despite the feeling of isolation it leaves him with, Kassadin doesn’t blame them.  
The Void was not just a place, it was a creature of its own. A mind, a very monstrous and perverse mind at that.  
What it did not create it reshaped, willingly or unwillingly, it mattered not to the sadistic beasts that pulled the strings. And that left space for some day to day horror in the lives of those touched by the Void.  
No, Kassadin did not blame his fellow combatants when they shifted nervously when ever he roamed away from his lane. His presence made them nauseous with unease and the unearthly energies emanating from his core, probably did not do any wonders to their fragile unmarred minds.  
There were braver more curious souls who did try to be polite or nice. Kassadin found that despite the faults others put upon some of the Champions that seemed to have a bit of infamy due to quite some complications in their pasts, that the most comprehensive seemed to be those labeled as villains. Not that the title fit Viktor at all, mind you, but he was certainly one of the more normal ones that actually dared speak to Kassadin.  
It was almost easy to forget what was wrong with himself when this eccentric inventor pushed his own limits to strike up a civil conversation that did not end in the other recoiling away from horror, or vomiting excessively due to the radiation of the void that assaulted him whenever Kassadin was near. The mask filter probably helped with that.  
Another of the more polite ones was Jericho Swain. His approach had surprised Kassadin the first time he’d been greeted by the master tactician, mostly due to some of the more colorful tales recounted by the Demacian Champions that seemed hellbent on painting Noxus as literal hell. Not that they knew what that was at all. Not by a long shot.  
Swain was…Interesting, more so than Viktor because Kassadin could actually smell what was bellow the other’s mask.  
It was not a scent he could quite put into words, but it was what you’d expect a murder of crows to smell like.  
And the glamour…He could catch glimpses of what lay underneath it.  
The broken, the scarred, the monster that Demacia feared.  
But mostly he saw a tired old man who was at his wits end trying to fix a nation forever darkened by bloodshed.  
The Darkin refused contact with him.  
Aatrox would eye him from afar, body tense and teeth bared in warning.  
Kayn had fled from him more than once, not of fear but of pure discomfort, due to the symbiotic nature of his “relationship” with Rhaast. The Darkin Scythe’s dislike of all Void beings made the boy’s skin crawl and his “bad eye” tended to betray his human vision.  
Kassadin knew the boy could see too much and it made him ill and incapable of controlling the anger his burden held.  
Varus had been the one to physically assault him once out of pure surprise, before simply avoiding him. The wounds sustained from the trio’s excellent sharp shooting had healed with relative ease, but the thought of causing so much repulse to not just the Darkin but his human hosts in such a manner that they simultaneously agreed to attack him, was enough of an ache for him. Kassadin hated the social isolation that came with his condition, but most of all he hated that the Darkin could so clearly see it and they, demons of ancient history, recoiled in disgust from it.  
Out of all the people that ran from him, or openly talked with him, he’d take anyone but the most obviously eager to speak to him.  
Malzahar was nothing short of an annoyance, specially when it came to Kassadin’s opinions of what they were.  
Where people shuddered when he hovered past them, they scrambled away in pure horror whenever they felt just the prophet’s presence.  
What was so upsetting about this, was that Malzahar knew how to mask the Void aura, yet did not do it in the presence of the Champions of the Institute of War. Worse yet, he did not share the secret of how to hide the horrors with anyone else.  
Because: Here was the real issue.  
Kassadin didn’t blame the fear he received from the others because he knew what they all caught glimpses of.  
They looked human to a fault, but Kassadin and Malzahar hid themselves in layers of clothing and armour. One would wonder why such an enthusiastic religious zealot like Malzahar would hide what he’d been given, but Kassadin knew. He could see it now, wriggling in the confines of the scarf. The jaws, the eyes… All hidden away to keep the Void-seer as diplomatic inappearancee as possible…  
And yet Malzahar loved when Kassadin stared, because Malzahar knew Kassadin could see it clear as day while others could not discern the outright details of what the Void had reshaped them into. It tended to come to light when ever the two fought or whenever they were most emotional.  
Mostly, they quaked with fear and revulsion whenever Kassadin felt enraged, his misshapen form breaking at the seams to show what lay beneath. The wriggling masses of flesh and tendrils, the teeth, the eyes, the horrors that made the prophet chuckle whenever he got a rise out of his rival. Malzahar loved provoking him because he knew Kassadin hated being alone.  
And alone he’d remain as long as he made others uncomfortable in the manner that he did.  
Positive emotions was also out of the question. Somehow it made it worse for the others to tolerate looking at them.  
This meant Kassadin had to remain impassive if he were in the company of others. And gods, was it hard.  
How could he not feel a little bit of happiness whenever the younger Champions rejoiced in their victories?  
Or whenever one of the few Champions that had shown him some basic decency, shared some of their own personal joy with him?  
Above all…How would he ever be able to demonstrate any kind of affection if he were ever to find his daughter?  
Having his own flesh and blood scared of him, or even disgusted by him, it would pain him more than the failing of his lungs.  
Kassadin hated what he was, what he’d become, what Malzahar had become. Because it wasn’t the prophet’s fault, he knew it wasn’t.  
However, he did know that there was no fixing the other’s mind. The Void and it’s creatures, Malzahar’s masters, was all the Shuriman zealot cared about anymore. His mind long since lost to the madness.  
Perhaps one day Kassadin too would succumb to it, let the monsters out and vanquish the light…But for now he’d very much like to try and pretend he’s human for as long as he could. He still had to find his little one, and he was running out of time.  
Perhaps the new marksman that he’d heard whispers of, could provide him with some answers of where to look next for his daughter.  
Kassadin just hoped for the sake of the others that this new Void-touched did not have a particularly bad temper.

**Author's Note:**

> The Kai'sa reveal from ages ago got me thinking about why void-touched humans all have a varying degree of affliction when it comes to body adaptations/mutations.  
> Mostly it just gives me the excuse to suggest this: Void-Corrupt Humans try to look as human as possible but, when ever they feel strong emotions, they tend to slip up and reveal the eldritch abominations that they really are. And while regular people don’t see it outright like the Darkin do, they can feel it to a certain extent.  
> It’s also an excuse to write Sad Dad Kassadin reflecting about how his and Malzahar’s presence is generally not welcome even in the Institute of War.


End file.
